


A Happily Ever After

by Adelaide_Morain



Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: F/M, Happy Ending, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 02:08:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2490560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adelaide_Morain/pseuds/Adelaide_Morain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A necessary conclusion after the events in Kinkan Town and the departure of Mytho and Rue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The quiet of the wood was interrupted by a gentle rapping on the cottage door.

“Hello?” called out a tentative voice. “Is there anyone home?”

The young woman hovered in the open doorway and peered inside. She clutched a woven basket tightly and fidgeted as if to turn away when she heard someone from inside. 

“Come in,” came a man’s voice, muffled with distance. “I’ll be there in one moment.”

Cautiously the girl entered, her eyes scanning the dark corners of the room. Compared to outside, everything was in shadow. However, it wasn’t unwelcoming. The small house looked more like a used bookstore than a home. Piles of old books were stacked on every available surface it seemed with parchment inserted haphazardly wherever there was room.

Just as the young woman had begun to scan the worn titles, the owner of the house appeared behind her wiping ink-stained hands on a rag.

“Are you the storyteller?” she asked wide-eyed.

“I am,” the man responded as he moved a large stack of papers from an overstuffed armchair. He gestured for her to sit.

“I had heard that there was a great storyteller who lived out in these woods... one who could perform miracles with his words.”

“Sometimes.”

“Then you can?” the girl asked incredulously. “But...” her brows furrowed, “you’re so young! To live out here all alone... I would have thought the man in the rumours to have been... well, you know...”

The young man sat across from her on a small wooden stool. “No, I’m not old.” He raised an eyebrow at her, watching her with his dark green eyes. “And I’m not alone.”

“Oh,” she responded, mouth open slightly in surprise. “You mean the duck from the stories, right?” She looked over to the open doorway. “I think I saw her on my way here. Such a little, yellow thing... swimming along in the shallows.” She turned back to the storyteller, smiling. “I guess it would be appropriate for a man with your abilities to be companions with the forest animals.”

“I’m not really friends with other animals,” he explained slowly. “Just her.” His gaze was far away from where the two of them sat. “She’s special.”

“I, ah...” the girl noticed how the storyteller’s mouth pulled back into the faintest hint of a smile. “I see.” She looked down at where her hands still gripped the basket handle. “I came because I would like you to write a story for me... for my mother...”

“Tell me.”


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn’t until early-afternoon that the young storyteller was able to head towards the lake. Around the path the trees grew in close. They were like a shroud around this place, protecting the cottage and the lake from casual travelers from the city. It was like he lived in a completely separate world here.

Before long the crunch of leaves beneath his feet gave way instead to the familiar groan of wooden boards and the trees parted like stage curtains. The sunlight now danced along the shimmering surface of the water, all but blinding him as he walked down the length of the dock. 

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said softly even though there appeared to be no one there. He checked on a fishing pole that had waited for him from that dawn. As he expected, no bait and no fish. With a resigned sigh, the storyteller leaned back into a simple, wooden chair that looked out over the water and propped the small writing desk he’d brought with him on his lap. “I got another commission today,” he explained as he carefully set up the parchment and inkwell. After a moment where he sat poised before the blank page, quill in hand, the young man looked up, eyes scanning his surroundings. “Are you even here?”

Just as he asked, the man heard the flutter of wings to his left and the thump of a clumsy landing. “ _Quack!_ ” The small, yellow duck looked up at him with shining eyes.

The storyteller smiled down at her. “Where have _you_ been?” he questioned teasingly.

“ _Quack!_ ” the duck responded and with a flurry of feathers made as to land in his lap.

“Ah, hold on!” the man attempted, trying to make room among a maelstrom of feathers, and papers, but already it was too late. “Idiot,” the storyteller reprimanded without much heart, setting the writing desk down beside the chair. The duck only looked up at him, beaming with happiness despite the addition of black specks to her normally golden plumage. “Hold still then...” he bade her as he attempted to rub the fresh ink away with his fingers. She merely settled down, her feathers fluffing up as she made herself comfy in his lap. His eyebrow quirked up at her apparent lack of concern for the mess she had made of herself.

As the storyteller busied himself, he told the duck about the girl who had come calling. He told her a story of the girl’s mother, a woman who was known and loved by so many and how an accident now held her in a deep sleep that no one could seem to wake her from. The duck seemed to listen carefully as he cleaned her feathers, punctuating his tale with a “quack” here and there in agreement or sympathy. He then told the duck about the story he had in mind for the girl’s mother. “It shouldn’t be too difficult if I do it just right,” he mused, his hands stroking the duck’s slick feathers. “I just hope this one works...”

At his words the duck snapped her head up to look at him. “ _Quack, QUACK!_ ”

“Yes, yes. I know. You’re reprimanding me again.” The man’s words were dismissive, but his tone revealed the fondness between the two of them. “I’ll try to be more sure of my skills, but...” he let his hand rest heavily on her plumed head, “that’s _your_ specialty, isn’t it? You can believe in me enough for the both of us right?” One side of his mouth tweaked back into a grin. 

“ _Quack!_ ”

For the next few hours, the storyteller wrote, his yellow companion still cuddled up next to his body and reading the words as he wrote them. Every so often a stray breeze would greet them with a ruffling of golden feathers and black hair or a dragonfly would perform aerial acrobatics near enough for them to hear the deep vibrato of his wings, but for the most part the day remained peaceful. The duck was dozing by the point when the man’s quill stopped its moving.

“There,” he announced softly, massaging the agitated muscles of his right hand. The duck stirred and looked up at him with concern. “It’s nothing to worry about,” he explained. “The muscles just get tight around that old scar sometimes.” It was something he was used to, but the storyteller wasn’t one to complain. A little ache from him was fair if he could use his power to help someone else. 

He carefully rolled up the fresh story making sure none of the ink was still wet. “I will be back in a little while. I’m going to go into town to drop this off.” The duck seemed resigned as she hopped down onto the dock to let him pack up his things. “I shouldn't be gone more than an hour or so since I don’t have to pick up groceries or anything. The girl from today brought us a basket full of food and we still haven’t gone through the payment from last time.” The storyteller turned to look at the small bird. “I’ll bring back some of the rye bread when I get back, okay?”

“ _Quack!_ ” the duck responded exuberantly.

At that moment, a particularly lively gust of air whisked across of the surface of the lake. It carried with it enough strength that the young man only had just enough time to catch the cloak he kept draped over the back of the chair before it could be deposited away and into the lake. However, even as he succeeded in that rescue, there was a confetti of parchment as the remaining pages of his writing desk took to the air.

“ _Quack! Quack! Quack!_ ” The duck was in a tizzy of motion as she fluttered back and forth before splashing into the water to attempt to fetch the rogue pages.

“Don’t worry about those,” the storyteller called out to her. “It’s an old failure anyway,” he explained as he carefully wrapped the cloak around the chair arm to anchor it. “I've meant to throw it away for a while now anyway.” The little yellow bird hesitated, looking back at her companion as if unsure whether to believe him or not. “More importantly, watch over the rest of my things.” With that he made a point to pack up all of the loose pieces of his writing desk, especially the bright yellow quill he’d used. “I’d hate to lose them.”

“ _Quack..._ ” the duck conceded. 

The young man shrugged his bag over his shoulder. “I’m off then. I will see you soon.” With that he turned away, striding back into the forest as the little, yellow duck watched him go.


	3. Chapter 3

It had taken him longer than he expected to make the delivery to the point that it was already nearly dusk when he returned. Dropping off a few purchases at the cottage, the young man quickly headed back to the lakeshore. He knew she would be waiting impatiently for him. Even though she never ventured too far from their dock, ducks are still by nature creatures of the day. He tucked the large hunk of bread into his pocket and marched down the verdant path hoping that the sun would stay up long enough for him to give it to her.

However, when he reached the dock, what he saw there caused him to come to a sudden halt by the shore. Perched on the end of his dock was a figure that he did not recognize. The man’s heart lurched in his chest because he knew that no one lived around this area and that the people of the city knew better than to wander in the woods so late in the day. More than anything, however, it was the fact that the figure was completely shrouded in a black cloak that caused fear to percolate in his mind. He had hoped never to cross the men in cloaks again considering the last time he had barely escaped with his hands intact, but he also couldn't leave. His eyes scanned desperately across the sunset colored lake for signs of her... but saw nothing. Heart pounding, the young man confronted the stranger.

“Who are you?” he questioned forcefully. “What are you doing here?”

The cloaked figure seemed surprised by the man’s silent entrance. Slowly, it turned and looked at him before getting to its feet. There was a long pause as the storyteller glowered at the figure, trying to recognize the person.

“F-Fakir...”

The sound of his own name took him aback. Guardedly, the man made his way down the dock length towards the figure. As he drew closer, he noticed just how short the person was and how significantly the cloak consumed their smaller stature. It slowly dawned on him just how mistaken he was.

“I... I read the story...” the figure explained, voice quavering. “I know you told me to leave it alone, but I -”

“Is it really you?” he asked, already knowing the answer but too unbelieving to accept it. The anger in his face had dissolved completely and his hand raised seemingly of its own accord to touch the young girl’s cheek.

“Are you angry with me? I mean, I-” the girl stammered over her words, clutching the storyteller’s cloak tightly around her. “I thought you told me... that I should stay...a duck...” her voice dwindled into nothing. The young man pushed the dark hood away from her face revealing a shock of red, trailing hair and she looked up at him sheepishly and confused. “But the story’s end... I didn’t think-”

“I know...” he interrupted. “I’m selfish.”

“What?” the girl questioned, shocked by his response.

“I told you to embrace who you really are and then spend all my time wishing you would come back.” His voice was soft and measured, his eyes steady on hers.

“Y-you d-did?”

He nodded silently.

“I’ve been working on that story for a long time...,” he explained, ignoring how the girl’s face had become twinged with a rosy shade. “...trying to figure out why it wouldn’t become real like everyone else’s stories. I thought I couldn’t write for you anymore.”

“I... didn’t know... Is that why you usually don’t want me to read your stories?” she asked, her voice emerging from her initial shyness.

His green stare narrowed and then turned away. “I’m sorry...” he whispered.

“What? Why?”

“For everything,” his gaze remained fixed across the lake. “For not being there for you when you were small. For not being able to do more for you...” He was lapsing into dismal reverie when he felt a warm touch against his hand. 

“You were there for me,” she corrected gently, raising his right hand up and tracing the puckered scar with her thumb. “You’ve been here with me the whole time... every morning... here...” 

Slowly but with confidence, she walked up to him and as he turned to say something she carefully entwined her arms around him. He looked down at the top of her head and there was silence between them as they stayed like that. Around them the shimmering glow of the setting sun began to darken on the water only to be replaced by the distant sparkling of stars dancing upon the ripples. He could feel the heat where her head lay gently against his heart.

“You said that you meant to throw that story away... do you still want to?” she asked without looking up.

“Idiot,” he responded out of habit. He paused before explaining, his words slow as he tried to express himself properly. “I thought I was wishing for something that could never happen. I-” his lips pressed together in a tense line and he wrapped his arms around her in return, “... I gave up hope,” he spoke into her hair.

She stirred and suddenly her face was only inches from his, her watery blue eyes staring up at him. They broke away awkwardly, but he held onto the moment by clasping her hands in his between them. 

“Do...do you-” he started, feeling the heat rise in his own face, “want to be here?” She stared at him, head cocked to one side slightly. “Like this?” he tried to clarify, swallowing through the lump in his throat. “With...me?”

At those words, the girl’s expression melted into a confusion of emotion; the sparkle in her eyes now spilled over as tears down her cheeks but her mouth pulled back into an overjoyed smile. She opened her mouth to give answer only for no words to come out. Instead she nodded forcefully and launched forward towards him in a hug. 

The two, who had so long assumed they’d reached the end of their tales, felt vigor surge forth within them. As they kissed, it seemed to them that they could see the brilliance of their entwined future and all of the opportunities it held for them. The man who wrote stories into life found his hope again in the girl who used to be nothing more than a duck. There is no record of the rest of their story but it is certain that between them they continued to live happily forever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...und sie lebten glücklich und zufrieden bis ans Ende ihrer Tage.  
>  (...and if they haven't died, they are still living today.)


End file.
